Yellow leaves drifted down like big puffy snowflakes last Monday morning as I walked Cocoa, my daughter Elizabeth’s chocolate Lab lookalike. Overnight the temperatures had dropped into the 20s and the early morning sun was beginning to thaw a light coating of frost. It was cool and crisp and much brighter at 6:40 a.m. than it was Saturday morning thanks to daylight savings time. (I slept in Sunday morning.)

It’s great to have that extra hour of sunlight but the 4:30 p.m. (or so) sunset comes awfully early. Our daylight hours are down to slightly more than 10 hours these days making it hard to squeeze in all those chores and outings we were able to do when we had five more hours of daylight. And what’s tough to swallow is the fact that we’re in for two more months of shorter days until we reach the winter solstice on Dec. 22 when we can begin to count the minutes that each day make the days longer. If only we could move to the southern hemisphere in the winter to avoid this shorter day stuff. Then we wouldn’t have to try to cram so much into so little time.

The short-day syndrome hit me the other day when I was talking with Steve Spencer of the Bureau of Public Lands about a showcase hike we were planning in the Nahmakanta Public Reserve next week. Spencer said he’d stop by to pick me up around 6 a.m. Tuesday and we’d head north. Six in the morning’s a little early, I was thinking, until Spencer reminded me that the days aren’t really that long and we’d need some time to make the drive then hike around the trail he wanted to show me.

Last weekend, “short day” struck again. I had some chores to do around the house (you know, like fix the bathroom door handle, trim back the hostas, rake the yard etc.) and my paddling mentor, Karen Francoeur, called to suggest we explore some local body of water later in the afternoon. I figured I had all the time in the world and set about fixin’ and puttin’ around.

It was 2:30 p.m. before I knew it and Ms. Paddling Buddy was knocking on the door. The sun was already low in the sky (it’s not very high at its highest these days) so we decided that Brewer Lake was just the ticket. I lived on its shores some 30 years ago and now live within seven miles as the crow flies, but, believe it or not, I’d never paddled it.

Brewer Lake looks to be possibly three feet below its normal level, so it’s really shallow at the launch ramp. Canoes or kayaks are probably about the only craft you can comfortably launch about now.

But once on the water you’re in for a treat, especially if you go soon while the leaves are still clinging to the trees. The hillsides to the east are resplendent in their orange-yellows and burnt umbers and the sinking afternoon sun cast a glorious hue to the display.

We headed away from the launch site to begin a clockwise tour of the lake that is a rounded rectangle oriented north-south. It’s nearly 2.4 miles long and a little less than a mile wide at its widest, according to my Maptech computer program, and there are several stretches of its eastern shore that are not developed. The western shore is pretty much all developed.

If you paddle the perimeter you’ll log around six miles and feel as if you have the place all to yourself. We saw only one small sailboat still in the water. Everything else, save for a couple of docks, is hauled out.

Brewer Lake has some of the “feel” of Phillips Lake (Lucerne) that lies just five miles to the east. The two are similar in size (Phillips is 828 acres, Brewer is 881 acres), but Phillips is much deeper (98 feet at it’s deepest vs. 49 feet for Brewer Lake). Phillips Lake has bolder granite outcroppings and the surrounding hills are much higher than those around Brewer Lake. There’s so much development on both that you won’t be in for a wilderness experience, but things are much quieter now that the craziness of summer has past.

The only shortcoming of late-season paddling is fewer bird sightings. There were five ducks, one osprey (apparently it missed the southern migration) and what we thought was a young eagle.

Like most other outdoor recreation opportunities, it’s fun just to get out and enjoy the fresh air and exercise. Paddling has an added plus for me in that I’m able to visit so many different places and see them from a perspective many people never experience. When I’m at water level the world takes on a whole new look. I feel at one with the environment. Get out and enjoy it, there’s still some good weather left.

You’ll find the most difficult decision to make is what to wear since the air temperature is now dropping below the water temperature. It’s hard to get that balance of clothing that keeps you warm enough to be comfortable yet not overheated. I met friends for a full-moon paddle/boat demo last Tuesday evening and wore what normally would have been extra layers. It turned out to be so cold that what I wore was just right for the chilly air and light wind.

Jeff Strout’s column is published on Saturdays. He can be reached at 990-8202 or by e-mail at jstrout@bangordailynews.net.